


Haply to Wive and Thrive

by queenofthorns



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 23:54:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthorns/pseuds/queenofthorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime asks Brienne to marry him, but she's sworn only to marry a man who can beat her in a fight. </p><p>Fluff warning!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haply to Wive and Thrive

Freezing air prickles the bare skin of Brienne's back, where Jaime has flung off the covers. He pads around the foot of the bed, naked.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Why, the honorable thing, of course,” Jaime says, laughter brimming in his eyes. He kneels beside her. “Will you have me for your husband, Brienne?”

“Husband?” Sleep still fogs her head.

“After last night, someone needs to make an honest woman out of you.”

The dull ache between her legs and the languor of her limbs remind Brienne of all that they did last night, and she blushes. 

Jaime takes her hand and brings it slowly to his lips, all the laughter gone from his face. “I’m a sellsword with no sword-hand. I have nothing to give you but my name, which is worth little, and my love.” His voice cracks on the last word. “That is worth what you make of it.”

They have endured so much together, fire and death and blood, and she has only seen him so humbled twice before: when the sellswords took his hand; and mere weeks ago, when Jaime knelt to the dragon-queen and begged for his last child’s life, naming her the bastard Myrcella Hill, no threat to any who sat the Iron Throne. Danaerys was merciful, and the new Lord of Casterly Rock still more so, legitimizing her and naming her his heir. Myrcella would be the Lady of the Rock someday, on one condition. “I never want to see you again,” Tyrion said. “Or hear your name.” When his brother left them, Jaime wept, but he has not spoken of that hurt since. 

Jaime’s teeth chatter. “If you don’t give me an answer soon, I may not be able to perform my husbandly duties.”

“Yes,” Brienne says. “I will wed you.”

He is incandescent, shining gold and silver in that grey stone room, his eyes the tender green of spring leaves, his pale skin marked with a hundred scars she knows as well as her own, and his white smile so broad she has no choice but to smile back, her heart caught in a vise that she never wishes to break.

“Now come back to bed,” she orders, pulling the covers aside.

“As you wish, my lady.”  Jaime slips in beside her, and Brienne yelps when he slides one icy foot against her calf. 

“That’s a wifely duty,” he says. “Warming your poor cold husband’s feet with your soft warm skin.”

“We’ll see what the septon has to say about that,” she tells him.

They hold each other silently, watching the narrow window where they can see nothing but white snow blowing in the wind.

“Jaime?” 

“Mmmm.” He presses an absent-minded kiss on her temple.

“I swore a kind of vow,” Brienne says, “about my marriage.”

“What vow?” He props himself up on an elbow and looks down at her.

“I swore that I would not wed any man who couldn’t beat me in a fight.”

Jaime grins. “Well, that’s easy.”

Brienne frowns. “You can’t beat me in a fair fight.”

“I beat you the first time we fought,” Jaime says.

“I won that fight.” Brienne insists. 

“Only because you wouldn’t take my chains off,” Jaime says with arch of his eyebrows.

“You were trying to kill me,” she says. “And you yielded.”

“I didn’t yield; you tried to drown me.” 

Brienne has had enough. She wiggles out from under Jaime’s leg, grabs her pillow, and sits up, holding Jaime down with her right arm.

“Yield,” she tells him.

Jaime shakes his head, though he makes no move to shake off her arm. Brienne straddles him, still holding her pillow.

“Do you mean to smother me?” Jaime asks, eyes glinting with mischief. “You might wait until after the wedding.”

She cuffs him with the pillow, which bursts. A cloud of white feathers swirls around them, sending Brienne into a fit of sneezes. She's surprised that he passes up the opportunity to push her off of him. When her sneezes have subsided, she tightens the grip of her knees on his hips. 

"Yield," she orders him again.

This time Jaime nods his assent.

“I won again,” she tells him, and she can’t keep a hint of smugness out of her voice.

“No,” he says, and she feels his cock stir against her thigh. “ _I_  won again. You are exactly where I want you."

He lifts himself on his elbows for a kiss. "To the victor go the spoils," he says, and Brienne's lips meet his in the sweetest surrender.


End file.
